


Midnight Morse Code

by pflaume



Series: Cassiopeia Lights [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, implied suicidal thoughts, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pflaume/pseuds/pflaume
Summary: The less advantaged loathes and the opposite thinks it has always been unfair all along.





	Midnight Morse Code

 

 

Everything has been in count for Jeonghan, at least ever since he chose to set foot on a trodden way usually not taken. From there, the world tilted in a way that somehow nudges him off the grid, even only in one certain offbeat.

  
  
It's three songs from the bus stop to his house yet would double at times when he has to walk. It doesn't bother him though, he's inlove with the multitude of the city. Something he came to acknowledge through his subway trips of clipped frost seeping in between his fingers and hurried lights and hues carding through his perfect blond hair.

  
  
It's one hundred sixty seven quick steps from the bottom of the stairs to his Psychology 3 when the elevator, again, decides to give up in exhaustion. He also doesn't err for he knows he's not attending one of those prestigious universities in Seoul.

  
  
Earlier, it was seven missed calls from his parents. And albeit the resistance from the urge to pick up, he admits he misses his mom in ways that only hits him when his mind touches on unnecessary things he shouldn't put it into.

  
  
Now, it's four thousand won of pale looking medicine and too small protein bars for his stomach to feast on. He thinks it's a pity to waste his last drop of money on something that makes you believe will heal you from any sort of pain your body has been inflicted with when in fact, all it does is to tip you off slumber so you'll forget the numbing pang.

  
  
There's also one rule he goes by: _it's all lose-lose_. And for all of it, he's not angry. He's loathing. He loathes the fact that he has to pull away from his parents; reason be damned. He loathes that he has to eat protein bars for dinner because his body decides it's only for two jobs. He loathes the man in front of him while he waits for his turn in the counter because he sports a Doc Martens, a bomber jacket that probably costs two meals in a five star hotel restaurant and a Rolex watch.

  
  
Jeonghan, simply put, doesn't get hyperaware. But when the man infront of him gives him a glance, he looks immediately down at his jeans that has frayed at the edges over time and his grip around the protein bars tightens.

  
  
_It's alright, Jeonghan._

  
  
"A final smoke." He hears the man infront of him talk, more or less to himself and Jeonghan notices his hand is gaunt; stretches like plastic, when he reaches for his purchase: cigarettes more expensive than Jeonghan's dinner. The man then places a bill on the silver surface and just like that, Seoul breeze hits Jeonghan's face and he's left staring at the empty door swinging back and forth.

  
  
He didn't bother to wait for his change.

  
  
"Sir? If you can please hand your items. You're stalling the line."

  
  
"Ah, yes. I'm sorry."

  
  
The cashier only smiles at him.

  
  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Jeonghan doesn't pride himself of his defiance although the way he flitted off his parents' lives strongly suggests he gives a good impression on it. And so although it's two minutes past eleven and he certainly has early classes tomorrow, the city calls him tonight and of course, who is he to deny? He finds himself weaving through a crowd of worn out employees and honking metals; trudging past creaky stairs in the fire exit.

  
  
The door to his favorite rooftop creaks as he pushes it open and close, an awful sound that rakes at his skin.

  
  
"I'm starting to think you're following me."

  
  
Jeonghan's shoulders jump in surprise; not at the realization that he has a companion but at how cold and vacant the other's voice is. "I'm not," he scoffs at the back turned on him; at the too expensive bomber jacket on it. "I've always been here."

  
  
"Mm, sure. Whatever makes you sleep comfortably at night." The man says, voice laced with ease too comfortable that it scares Jeonghan.

  
  
He sits a good distance away from him, facing the Seoul view at night, a plethora of floors below. He can just, maybe, ignore the other's presence.

  
  
_And no, he can't._

  
  
Because the man suddenly pulls up on his feet, stands on the ledge, dangerously, dangerously close on the edge, tips his head up and closes his eyes. The cigarette stick hangs on his fingers, breeze blowing it to bits.

 

Jeonghan inches closer. Somehow, his heart lurches at the minute movement when the man slurs. "What the fuck?!" he shouts, clutching at the man's _expensive_ jeans in an attempt to pull him away from death. His fingers turn clammy and he suddenly can't hear.

  
  
But the man only laughs, a sober cackle slicing the gel of tense air, "You're a scaredy-cat, aren't you?" He moves down and sits beside Jeonghan. Again, the latter gets too conscious of his jeans. "What's your name?"

  
  
At this proximity, Jeonghan realizes he looks achingly _expensive_ : a face straight out of a magazine, the kind of handsome that is defined in all bite and forged through famed genes and meticulousness. The pull of his lips is the only thing that bothers him. He's somehow sad and Jeonghan pretends not to notice. "Yoon Jeonghan."

  
  
"A pretty name for a pretty face."

  
  
The temperature notches a bit high for Jeonghan and he ends up shaking his head in hopes that he can also shake off the sudden heat in his cheeks.

  
  
"You don't like being called pretty?" The man asks, confusion written all over his face.

  
  
The blond bites his lower lip, a hobby he got acquiesced to every time he gets anxious. "I'm not exceptional."

  
  
The stranger only shrugs, dragging up his fingers so his lips could close around the cigarette stick he's holding. It's approximately seven seconds, Jeonghan counts, before he speaks up again, "I can't wait to see your face in the centerfold of a magazine."

  
  
This makes the blond roll his eyes. He doesn't have the time for leisure compliments nor the luxury for it. "What's your name?"

  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I tell you," he quips. His voice floats in low decibels through the air. It makes Jeonghan think of Christmas morning.

  
  
"I already have alot about you in my mind. Try me."

  
  
The man glances at him in amusement. Jeonghan is met with chocolate brown orbs, more dazzling than hazel leaves in autumn. "I'm Choi Seungcheol."

  
  
It took six seconds for Jeonghan's mind to short circuit on the man's name; flip through recognition against the frost biting in his shoulders. And when he remembers, he mouths a small, "Oh."

  
  
Seungcheol laughs, his frame vibrating along with his chuckle, "I told you." Jeonghan wonders if it hurts when he laughs because again, the man's smile is gaunt throughout it.

  
  
"Choi Group of Companies, sole inheritor, Choi Seungcheol?"

  
  
"It sucks when people everywhere know you."

  
  
So that explains the expensive everything that sticks on his plastic skin. Jeonghan likes to mask emotion, fold it in between made up reasons but in a way, his anger bubbles up again at the careless comment the man made. "Would you rather be thrown away? Forgotten? Because I wager you haven't experienced that."

  
  
"I would rather die right now, actually. Jump here and never wake up again."

  
  
The breeze blows, making the tension more obvious than it had been earlier.

  
  
"You rich people are rats," Jeonghan spits, anger and courage rolled into words that poison his tongue. Unexplainably, this doesn't surprise Seungcheol. "I bet you have your car parked somewhere out there. Hell, I bet you have your own gun inside."

  
  
"You're not exactly wrong." The blond is seething, not at the pulled words but at how Seungcheol is enjoying the whisk of air, uncaring. Something that makes him think he might just suddenly jump nine floors down.  
  
  
"Then why not make use of that right now? Gunning yourself inside your own car seems the most inconspicuous way to go. Why here? In the most sketchiest place in Seoul? Why splatter your expensive perfume on the asphalt below? You don't belong here."

  
  
"Wouldn't it be pretty to graze the morning news of my death in this kind of place? I did not choose this life, you know. I did not choose these clothes. I did not choose to be the only son of a rich capitalist. People think it's unfair that we are at an advantage. They don't know that it's also unfair because of the same exact reason."

 

"You're unbelievable," Jeonghan says, partly to the gust of cold air that slips his mouth, partly to the whole city in front of him, mostly to Seungcheol. "What? You got tired of your lavish penthouse? Of your prestigious university? Of your careless premium one night stands?"

  
  
"What makes you think that's all there is?" Seungcheol shoots back and Jeonghan dislocates in parts he didn't expect to be attacked by the sad smile of the man beside him. "You're not the one who wakes up to a cold empty mansion. It is not home. You're not the one who sleeps on a too spacious California king bed. It is not rest, nor slumber. You're not the one who keens for attention when they think it's alright to shove money at their son, that's what he needs. I don't. You're not the one who lacks of the people who care for you. What makes you think you're deserving of everything that I have?"

  
  
Because in all honesty, Jeonghan doesn't. He doesn't deserve anything at all. He was given a home but he neglects it, opting for a decision that's more cozy for him. He was offered comfort in the arms of his parents but he declines it in lieu of chasing his own dreams. He was habituated with enough support but he threw it all away because it is not what he likes.

  
  
Jeonghan looks away and finds ground by biting so hard on his lower lip, he's sure he's drawing blood.

  
  
"Money only buys us synthetic apparitions of happiness from material things. Money doesn't keep us from breaking down in the middle of the kitchen in the morning or from needing for things intangible. If I jump from here," Seungcheol flicks the last cigarette stick off his fingers and it falls _down, down, down_ the pavement, unnoticeable; small. "Money would not be able to bring me back in one piece nor come with me. It's an exhausting game of push and pull."

  
  
"Don't," Jeonghan blurts out in sudden panic. His voice is too croaky due to the chips of winter evident in the air. "Don't do whatever you're planning to do."

 

  
Seungcheol tilts his head towards the other, in an endearing manner that signals something like _'You don't have to look out for me'_ and truly, he voices it out after a mere fraction of a second, "You don't have to look out for me, Jeonghan. I'm just a stranger you met who ran out of reason to stay."

  
  
"Well, you have a new reason now!" Jeonghan is crazy, he decides but maybe after what he had done to his parents, this serves as his comeuppance.

  
  
"And what possibly might that be?"

  
  
"Me."

  
  
"You know, when I said you're pretty, it wasn't an attempt at sweet talk or flirting. What I said is only the truth," Seungcheol grins. Jeonghan thinks he really looks expensive. _And handsome._

  
  
"I know, but wouldn't you want to see this face in a magazine someday?"  
  
There's a pregnant pause and Jeonghan claws at his brain to find all the more reasons that he can use to convince the sad man infront of him but his reckoning is disrupted when Seungcheol says, "I'd choose to see your face in my kitchen or bed."

  
  
Something in Jeonghan warms up, "Says the one who said he wasn't flirting."

  
  
Seungcheol's laugh lifts the stale air of Seoul. It's still vacant, hollow and plastic but Jeonghan promises he will douse him home and offer him comfort until he is pieced back again.

  
  
"Do you want to go eat dinner?"

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Surely, Jeonghan lands a job, two years after, in the fashion department of Seoul: a big chunk of the highest earning careers in the city. It isn't much, he likes to think, but everytime he gets reminded of his new posh apartment, his flat screen TV and the fact that he's very closely acquainted with Junhui, Wonwoo and Joshua, the most sought after models of the generation, he gets overwhelmed.

  
  
With the onslaught of fame and admiration, also comes the myriad of hates and detestation. Again, he doesn't complain for he can only remember what Seungcheol said the first time they met on that rooftop: _They don't know that it's also unfair for the same exact reason_.

 

 It's always a lose-lose.  


 

Jeonghan sighs in relief at the sight of the building looming infront of him. His shoot that day was tiring, to say the least. He had to leave the comforts of his bed even though his sheets were whispering for more sleep. He also didn't like the concept of the shoot but then again, it would be too unprofessional if he voices it out. They pay him, he does what he's paid for.

  
  
The whispers of the media didn't go past deaf ears. Jeonghan is aware and albeit, Seungcheol convinces him that his ethereal prowess solely got him the job, he can't deny his knowledge of how the young CEO tweaked his connections a bit for Jeonghan. Again, he isn't exceptional.

  
  
It's just another typical modern Cinderella story.

  
  
He stops infront of the penthouse, jab in the security code and enters the said premise. The smell of expensive manly cologne concocted with the aroma of coffee bought overseas welcome him. The house is too quiet. He can hear the blaring TV from the door, pliant but still very lacking of life. For the second time today, Jeonghan sighs as he saunters toward the all too familiar bedroom, kicking off his Doc Martensㅡ he still _loathes_ it, by the way.

  
  
"Cheol," he says, opening the curtains so the man sleeping on the bed would, at least, stir out of his sleep. It's three pm, high noon for god's sake.

  
  
There isn't any change. If not for the constant rise of the man's chest, he would think he's dead.

  
  
"Seungcheol," he says again, louder this time, pulling some shirt from the monstrously large closet he thinks nobody needs, just a juxtaposition of ties, cufflinks and Rolex watches. God, he hates the smell of money.

  
  
Said man only buries his face more under the plethora of pillows and rolls over so his naked back faces Jeonghan. _He's still very naked._

  
  
Jeonghan knows Seungcheol is walking on thin ice. He needs the constant supervision of someone like a bestfriend for he's still that boy he met on a rooftop, cracked conceding the fact that he's being mended bits by bits; one wrong step and he'll, again, plunge into the depths of what he was two years ago. His lifestyle change helped him a bit, although sleeping in until noon isn't very healthy, Jeonghan thinks.

  
  
The younger had seen the worst, every little pieces of him: physical wounds, emotional causes; and he doesn't want any of that again.

  
  
"Choi Seungcheol." The voice he uses this time is stern, knowing that the other cowers everytime he plays control by mentioning his whole goddamn expensive name. He sits by the edge of the uselessly kingsized bed and taps his ass, playfully. "Come on, get up. You stink." Although he really doesn't. High-end people and their high-end smell.

  
  
"My boyfriend left me alone early today," Seungcheol mumbles from under the pillows so softly Jeonghan would have missed it, if not for the fact that the heater and the muffled news from the TV in the living room is the only constant flow of comfortable sound. "Probably six am or so."

  
  
Jeonghan lets himself enjoy the luxury of a laugh as he asks, "Is that so?"

  
  
Seungcheol comes out of the castle of pillows he made to cover his face and turns around. The premium velvet sheets pool in his waist and he squints at the direct sunlight that hits his face. "Yeah, I'm starting to think he only wants me for the satisfying sex."

  
  
_You have such a big ego_ , Jeonghan wants to say but he clamps his lips tight and settles with, "Mm, what did he say though?"

  
  
Premium Seungcheol and his premium man bubble.

  
  
"He said he has an important shoot for this famous magazine," Seungcheol drawls lazily, starting to drift back to sleep with a pout on the edge of his plump lips. His voice is still very groggy and the shirt that Jeonghan throws at him gets left on the foot of the bed.

 

Jeonghan laughs again at how adorable and sexy his boyfriend is everytime he wakes up, morning or afternoon, no in between. But he also knows he's not getting any more sleep, not in his watch so he slips beside him, as much as he can possibly wiggle inside the man's arms. Sure enough, he's pressing soft kisses on the man's chest after ten seconds of struggling.  "But I'm here now, ain't I?" Another kiss on his jaw.

  
  
Seungcheol slowly opens his eyes, the flutter of his lashes still serene for Jeonghan ever since the day they met. "Hey, pretty. I missed you."

  
  
Jeonghan almost smiles, not at the hug offered to him but at the cheeky endearment. Goddamn Seungcheol and his goddamn nicknames that never fail to make his lips curl up into a lovesick grin. He pushes the urge away though. "You were just badmouthing me earlier, now you're calling me pretty."

  
  
Seungcheol gasps, a twinkle of playfulness evident at the back of his chocolate brown eyes, "I did not!"

  
  
He drapes an arm around the man's waist and pinches a small portion of skin in his side. "It was literally just ten minutes ago, Cheol."

  
  
The other yelps at the pressure and Jeonghan is satisfied so he opts to press himself even more against the man. The exhaustion of the day finally rolls up to him and they both slowly tumble back to slumber but Jeonghan pulls away when he remembers his sole reason for getting on bed with him. His idea isn't very effective as he deemed it to be. "Cheol, get up. You haven't had breakfast nor lunch."

  
  
He is only replied with a groan and Seungcheol pulls him back into the position they were earlier. _God, he can be such a baby._

  
  
Jeonghan, for all his playfulnessㅡ he really doesn't have any other options, reaches down and slips his hand inside Seungcheol's sweatpants, gingerly placing his warm hand on top of the other's crotch.

  
  
Effectively, the older's face slowly turns into a frown and tries, as best as he could muster an intimidating voice, to order, "Don't do that."

  
  
Jeonghan snorts, "You look handsome with your freshly dyed hair." Goddamn Seungcheol and his costly dirty blond look. _Fucking expensively handsome._

  
  
"Ah, heavens, save me from this harassment."

  
  
"You're a jerk!" Jeonghan pulls away, hastily sitting up and hitting his boyfriend in the stomach. He's scandalized to his very roots but Seungcheol's cherubic laugh is easy and it lifts up everything inside their penthouse. Jeonghan detests the display of emotions but his heart swells at how different his laugh is, full now and very content.

  
  
The former mimics him, only to mouth kisses on the corner of his lips. Jeonghan scrunches his nose for mock annoyance but he can't really deny that he is madly, deeply fucked. Seungcheol pulls away after satisfying himself with the enough amount of affection he craves for the everyday consumption, "Your mom called earlier. She wants me to visit her again. Maybe sometime this weekend." There's a hand offered to him as he looks up at the other. "Shall we?"

  
  
"She's inlove with you. Don't indulge her," Jeonghan complains, as he was being dragged towards their sleek kitchen.

  
  
"I'm taking the advantage. I'm marrying her son, soon."

  
  
It's just another typical modern Cinderella story. Only with two princes.

  
  
Jeonghan thinks he was the fixer upper. Seungcheol thinks otherwise. He slept a villain and woke up a superhero.

  
  
It's just another typical modern Cinderella story. Only that Jeonghan, the man that he's so wildly inlove with, saved him from all of his endeavors and he's just giving him the favor back.

  
  
It's just another typical modern Cinderella story; not with a slipper but with a bomber jacket that actually costs four meals, not two, in a five star hotel restaurant.

  
  
_And that goddamn Doc Martens._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Back with another one shot. Sudden urge to write (read: got the motivation because the tag is so dry guys wyd). Hope everyone's well and healthy. Tell me your thoughts.
> 
> tumblr link: https://jcpflaume.tumblr.com/post/169109363689/midnight-morse-code
> 
> Give me prompts in https://curiouscat.me/pflaume and let's talk.


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